In the snowy lands of Northrend all was calm. The sun had just risen, the aspects and ambassadors of the Dragonflights gathered at the top of Wyrmrest temple. Dragonblight may've found the scourge less of a threat with Arthas dead, but the infinit...

The night in Shadowmoon valley seemed silent and nearly peaceful for the first time in a many years. Then, the silence and peace within the Dragonmaw Fortress was suddenly broken by the rush of heavy footsteps and the shouts of orcs. "The prisoner is escaping! Stop him or it'll be your hides!" bellowed a dark red skinned orc leader, his form encased in plate of heavy plate-mail. The troop of armored guards were quick to heed him, dashing down the hall after the prisoner.
The prisoner barely managed to stay ahead, turning a corner and out of sight of his pursuers. His body was lithe and marked with a series of azure tattoos; jagged lines and sharp points forming some arcane pattern over his flesh. He was clad only in a pair of tattered shorts, the wardens of the prison offered no unnecessary comforts, like clothing. He had no weapon in his hand, no magical artifacts anywhere to be seem, and no reason to believe this man broke from any half decent prison. The man had dark blue hair that seemed to have been roughly cut just below the bottom of his pointed ears. his dark purple glowing eyes darting around the hallway, looking for doors, windows, hell a hole in the wall, any way he could get outside. Having no luck he continued down the hallway as fast as he could. His left ear twitched at the approaching stomps of orcish feet. Then something caught his eye, at the end of the next hallway was a staircase going up.
The fortress consisted of 4 floor, 5 counting the balcony, and he was on the third. He made a dash for the staircase, the roof would make a good exit if no others could be found. The promise of his magic waking the slumbering orc warlocks was all the kept him from shattering the wall with his power. As he reached the top of the staircase he found the stairs to the roof were held on the other side of the hall, three guards stood between him and them. Them, along with the five coming from behind...
The situation was grim, but he knew he had to try. He ran charged with all his strength at the orcs. As he approached the lazy soldiers straightened and turned to face him. At the last moment the prisoner leaned backward as if falling, only to catch himself with his hands, curl backward, then kicks his feet, and pushed off towards the orcs. One foot collided with an broad orcish snout, the other embedded in an eye. Be he wasn't finished; he curled himself up slightly, and brought his two fists together as his continued the flip, slamming the bottom of his fists on top of the third orc's head, not so much to hurt him, but to vault over him. He left the three bruised and disoriented orcs behind as he made a mad dash for the stairs.
Finally he climbed up to the roof and ran for the nearest edge. With complete confidence he lunged off, and released a spell just as his feet left the cold stone. a great vortex opened a good distance away; then between him and his portal, a magic curtain of purple and black coalesced. As he came dove through the curtain of magic his true form was shown. A large, yet sleek reptilian form covered in rigid black scales. Light blue crystals sprouted along his spine, his eyes retained that telltale glow, and he was wrapped in an ephemeral translucence. He was a Nether Dragon, one of the few to escape captivity and enslavement from the orcs.
He desperatly flew through the portal he conjured, vanishing without a trace as both the curtain, and then the portal dissipated. All the orcs saw of the other side of that portal, was snow, and a massive stone tower along a large war-torn crevasse.